


Style

by the_ktgrace



Series: 1989 - Bellarke [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ktgrace/pseuds/the_ktgrace
Summary: "She felt him before she saw him. Before she spotted his shadow on the white wall, fuzzy and larger than hers. Before she smelled the musky scent of his cologne and shampoo that she recognized all too well. No, it was the feeling that came first. The way the hair on her neck prickled up, how her stomach felt warm. Somehow, she knew who was standing behind her."___An angsty Bellarke one-shot based on Taylor Swift's "Style"





	

Clarke stood facing the wall, eyes combing over another painting. She took in the way the pops of brilliant red stood out against a swirling grayscale pattern. In her right hand she held a slender glass of champagne, the golden liquid catching the bright light of the gallery. Something about the blank white walls and the cherry floors felt comforting to Clarke, like the way a bibliophile felt in a library. Clarke loved art.

She had never missed one of the gallery’s exhibits since coming to school as a freshman. Clarke was currently pursuing a double major in art and biology. Her mother, hoping Clarke would continue on to medical school, had pushed her into biology. But Clarke’s heart had always pointed her towards something creative. When the rigor of her biology coursework set her on edge, it was always art that calmed her back down.

Clarke moved onto another painting, this one showing the view from under leafy green trees looking up. The artist had done a lovely job of capturing the sunlight streaming in through the leaves, and Clarke could practically smell the fresh forest air just by looking at the painting.

That’s when she knew he was there.

She felt him before she saw him. Before she spotted his shadow on the white wall, fuzzy and larger than hers. Before she smelled the musky scent of his cologne and shampoo that she recognized all too well.

No, it was the feeling that came first. The way the hair on her neck prickled up, how her stomach felt warm. Somehow, she knew who was standing behind her.

She heard his footsteps as he came closer, to stand beside her on her right. Clarke didn’t turn her head, she simply raised her chin.

“I didn’t know you were much of an art gallery person,” she said, keeping her voice controlled.

“I know you are.” His answer was low and brief, and his deep voice tugged at her. She turned, finally looking at him. Granted, he was underdressed, standing there in a white t-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. But there was something magnetic about his look, something that grabbed your attention and wouldn’t let go. Perhaps it was the confidence her wore, or the aura around him. His dark hair was combed back and his eyes glittered. Clarke was fighting to not look at them. Fighting and losing.

“It’s been a while, Bellamy,” Clarke said frankly.

“Yeah, I guess it has been.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

His lips tightened into a thin line. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Bellamy, you _knew_ I would be here. I’m at every show.”

He glanced around at the walls, “Do you have any art up here?”

Clarke shook her head. “Not this quarter. I’ve been too busy with my bio work, I haven’t had much time to paint.”

“Clarke,” his eyebrows furrowed, “That’s not fair to you. You’re really damn good, you know that. Why waste your time on biology then?”

“Because I know what is good for me,” Clarke answered, crossing her arms. “Becoming a doctor – that’s a good job. A _safe_ job. I have to think about my future realistically. I have to use my head.”

“But what is your heart telling you?”

Clarke knew they weren’t talking about biology and art anymore. She didn’t want to be having this conversation, not here, not like this. She set her champagne glass down on a nearby table. “I think I’m going to head home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No, Bellamy, you don’t need to. I can catch a bus back to the apartment.”

“Clarke, it’s pouring out. I’m not going to let you wait for a bus in the rain.”

She opened her purse, digging for her bus ticket. “I’ll be under a cover.”

Bellamy walked past her towards the stairs, spinning his car keys around his finger. His jacket brushed her bare arm as he walked, and Clarke shivered. She followed him down the stairs and towards the front door without thinking.

He pushed open the frosted glass door, and Clarke could hear the rain pounding on the pavement. “I’m parked across the street,” he pointed at his old, beat-up car. “Here,” he tugged off his jacket and held it over her head.

“I’m fine, really. I won’t melt.”

“I don’t care,” he shrugged. “You’re too dressed up to get soaked out here.”

He was probably right. Clarke was wearing one of her best outfits: an open-backed black dress with a fancy silver necklace. Between the tight little skirt and heels her legs seemed longer than they actually were. She’d even added red lipstick for a classic look. Typically a jeans and sweater girl, Clarke never dressed up. She accepted the jacket begrudgingly, holding it over her head herself.

“Fine,” Bellamy grumbled, moving out into the rain. “Just trying to be a gentleman.”

He unlocked the car and went to open the door for Clarke, but she brushed past him and grabbed the handle herself. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of being a gentleman. Not if he would keep playing games. Buckling her seat, Clarke sat in complete silence. Bellamy started the car.

“No headlights?” Clarke asked, confused.

“Need to get them fixed.” Bellamy’s answer was brief and curt. She knew money was always an issue for him; he was working two jobs as it was to try and get his sister Octavia through school. There wasn’t a lot of extra money for repairs.

“Drive carefully,” Clarke replied quietly.

They sat in silence for the rest of the car ride. Clarke leaned her head against the cold glass, listening to the rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers. Trying to focus on anything except the handsome man beside her. She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes were fixated on the road, jaw tight and eyebrows low.

Bellamy pulled the car in front of Clarke’s apartment building and shifted into park. Clarke opened the door and held the jacket over her blond head, shielding the rain as she crossed to the front door. _God, the jacket even smells like him_ , she groaned internally and handed it back to him. He heard him lock the car and follow her as she entered the hallway. Clarke hoped she could lose him at the stairs, but climbed behind her.

Reaching the fourth floor, Clarke turned down the tight hall and stood outside her doorstep. She remembered that her roommate Raven was spending the weekend with some friends for a concert, so she had the place to herself. Still, she felt uncomfortable at her own door. “Thanks for driving me home, then.”

“Can I come in?”

 _Dammit, I knew you would ask that_ , Clarke thought to herself. Her mind was telling her _no_ firmly, but she couldn’t find the words to say it. Instead, she simply unlocked the door and left it open for him to follow.

Clarke kicked off her heels and dropped her purse by the door. Behind her, Bellamy took of his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall like it naturally belonged there. Clarke fumbled for the lightswitch, finally flipping it and illuminating the small apartment.

It wasn’t much at all. It was a studio apartment, cramped with mismatched furniture and personal belongings. You could distinctly see both Clarke and Raven’s personalities throughout the place. Raven was a pack-rat, holding onto everything and finding uses for the strangest objects. A mechanical-engineering major, Raven liked to recycle old boxes and cans and metal scraps to build various structures around the apartment. Clarke, who preferred to keep things neat, kept her creative visions to the dozens of paintings on the walls. And leaning against the walls. And lying in stacks of canvas next to the bookshelf.

“Want something to drink?” Clarke asked, a polite formality. She stuck her head in the fridge, “I think we’re out of beer though. I guess Raven took the last of it with her. I’ve got some Coke though, or---”

“Maybe less drinking and more talking,” Bellamy answered in a low growl.

Clarke’s head snapped up. “What if I don’t want to talk?”

“God dammit, Clarke, you didn’t speak the entire car ride. I can’t get anything from you.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to hear what you have to say.” Clarke busied herself by opening a can of Coke – she survived off of caffeine – and taking a swig.

“Why not?”

“Just because I don’t see you anymore doesn’t mean I don’t hear about you, Bell.” She hated how she’d slipped up and called him by his shorter nickname. “Come on. Roma... Trina… Echo…?  The list goes on. I can’t even keep up, which one are you technically _with_ now? Or all three at the same time?”

“Clarke,” he growled, his face growing angry.

“Really, we both know it’s true. It’s always been like that.”

“And what do I know about how _you_ spend your time, then?”

Clarke set her can down with a _thud_. “You don’t, but I can tell you that I don’t sleep around. I don’t play with people like they’re toys and put them away when I get bored.”

“I never tried to play with you, Clarke,” he approached her slowly, eyes intense. “You should know that.”

“You _liar_ ,” Clarke said, her voice cracking on the last word. “You don’t mean that. You never meant that.” She fought not to look at his enormous dark eyes, or the way the rain had made his slicked hair fall back into natural loose curls. “I --- I can’t be the kind of girl you want me to be, Bellamy. I can’t be that girl that you keep running to when you feel like it. I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back each time, thinking that this time you’ll actually stay. I _can’t_.”

“Hey,” he gently reached out for her arm, but Clarke pushed him away, like the slightest touch from him would break her.

“Don’t. You --- you aren’t good for me. I can’t be what you want, and I shouldn’t be around you.”

“Then why did you let me in?”

There is was, the million dollar question. _Why did I talk to him at the gallery? Why did I let him drive me home? Why is he standing in my apartment now, looking so much like he belongs here?_

“I don’t know,” Clarke struggled to keep her voice from growing thick. She was failing.

“Clarke, listen to me for just one minute,” he said, speaking firmly. He grabbed her arms as if to steady her, and he stared at her straight in the eyes. No looking away now.

“Clarke, everyone is telling you what to do. They always are, we both know that. Your mother, your teachers, your friends. Everyone is telling you what to do and who to be. Sometimes, you’ve got to tune them out and listen to yourself.

“I know I’m not the safe choice, or the smart choice. Hell, I’m not even the _good_ choice by anyone’s standards. I know I can be a complete ass, you’ve told me that a thousand times. But… I can’t stop thinking about you, Clarke. I want to be with you, near you, to see you smile and laugh and light up my world.

“And, damn, maybe that’s why we keep falling in this vicious cycle. Because, I care about you too much, Clarke, and it scares me. I keep thinking that if I leave you I can conquer that fear, regain control of my own life. But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Clarke’s brain moved at half-speed, struggling to process the words Bellamy had poured out to her. Bellamy _never_ opened himself up to anyone, and Clarke could see the physical pain on his face from doing so. He watched her like she was his entire world. _I’ve been there too a few times_.

“Please say something, Clarke.”

Her heart felt like it was breaking for the hundredth time. Every time he came back, he would leave. Every time he wouldn’t stay. And Clarke would always fall for it. And yet, she always fell back to him, watching them go round and round each time.

_Screw it._

Clarke rose up on her toes and pressed her lips softly to Bellamy’s. The moment they touched, it was like something clicked in her head. Her heart was beating in her ears as she pulled away slowly, baring her soul in her blue eyes as she stared into his.

“Talking’s overrated anyway,” Bellamy grumbled in a deep whisper, grabbing her face and pulling her back into him. Their lips crashed together and Clarke’s legs felt weak. She threw her arms up onto his shoulders, and his strong arm held her waist. His fingers caressed her cheek with a shaking hand, moving upwards to slide into her hair.

Using both arms, Bellamy picked Clarke up and set her down onto the kitchen table. Her legs swung off the floor as she leaned in to his kiss again. He growled in his throat as she dug her fingers into his curly hair, catching the memorable smell of his shampoo. His hands slid up and down her bare back, causing shivers to race up her spine.

When they pulled away, they were both breathless. Bellamy drunk in the passion in Clarke’s eyes.

“Bell,” she panted, voice soft. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

His lips rose to match hers, planting repeated kisses on her red pout. She smiled behind each kiss, moving forwards to hop down off the table. Suddenly one arm swung under her leg as another caught her back. He was holding her like a child.

“I’ve got you, Princess.”

She giggled, _giggled_ , as Bellamy carried her from the kitchen towards her bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in a long time, Clarke didn’t wake up to the beeping of her alarm. Even on weekends, Clarke tended to set an alarm.

No, instead she woke up to the sunlight trickling in through the blinds. She burrowed her face into her pillow, slowly coming to. She recognized the warmth of another body behind her, feeling the gentle movement of Bellamy’s bare chest against her back. Clarke smiled, nestling deeper into his arms. Feeling his breathing change, Clarke rolled over to face him.

Morning always looked good on Bellamy. He opened his eyes blearily, the sunlight picking up the freckles on his face and the tiny scar on his upper lip. He looked younger and healthier, like he had his own glow around him. Clarke was basking in it.

“ ‘Morning, Princess,” he slurred in his sleepy state, blinking his eyes to wake up.

“Good morning,” she said, mindlessly twisting a curl of his dark hair around one finger. “It’s nice to have you back here.”

He gave her that little smirk, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards in a way that made her melt. “Just like I never left.”

“So don’t.”

“I couldn’t leave you if I wanted to, Clarke.”

She looked down, placing her small hand on his chest and feeling the rise and fall beneath her fingertips. “You know I love you, Bell.”

“I know that,” he answered softly. “You could say it again, though.”

Clarke laughed, “I love you, Bellamy Blake.”

“And I love you, Clarke Griffin. I think I have for a long time.”

Clarke kissed him on the lips, gently and sweetly. It wasn’t hot and intense like last night’s, but it held just as much genuine emotion in one small kiss. When Clarke pulled away, she placed her face on his chest and nestled in under his chin. Bellamy’s hand went to her hair, stroking the strands like they were gold itself.

Clarke had seen them crash down. They would pick themselves back up, tear each other apart, then come back every time. But this time, she knew it was different. The rest of the world would crash, then pull itself back together again, but they would still have each other. _We still have each other._

_We’d never go out of style._

 


End file.
